The Golden Ritual
The feast in the Hall of St. Jude was not a meal but a liturgy, a heavy, perfumed ritual that bound the soul to the stone walls and the iron chair. Thomas Bradshaw sat at the far end of the long oak table, his hands resting on the polished wood, trembling not from cold but from the sheer, crushing weight of expectation. He was a man of the margins, a scribe who had wandered into the heart of...
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